


Softer Touch Required

by amorremanet



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Art School, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Background Hunk/Lance/Lotor (Voltron), Chubby Shiro, Dorks in Love, Established Relationship, Feedism, Fluff and Kink, Gay Disaster Shiro (Voltron), Graduate School, Idiots in Love, Lotor & Shiro (Voltron) Friendship, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Misunderstandings, Multi, POV Alternating, Rating May Change, Shiro Has Long Hair, Stuffing, Tags May Change, Weight Gain, chubby!kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-16 10:12:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16083989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amorremanet/pseuds/amorremanet
Summary: After two years in a throuple and finally moving in together, Adam, Keith, and Shiro know each other pretty well. But when Adam and Shiro start at their first-choice graduate program in illustration, the pressure starts to get to Shiro in ways that Keith and Adam never saw coming.Between fighting every day to prove himself and TAing for an asshole prof, Shiro turns to stress-eating, the toll of which quickly starts showing on his once-trim waistline. Keith and Adam don’t mourn the loss of their boyfriend’s eight-pack abs, but theydoworry about what might happen if Shiro cottons on to how much he’s gaining. They don’t want him to find an extra excuse to treat himself like garbage. So, if they don’t mention his weight, they’re only looking out for him, right?Shiro, meanwhile, is nowhere near as oblivious as Keith and Adam think — at least, not about how he’s getting pretty chubby. To his surprise, he notices that and finds he doesn’t mind. His boyfriends’ silence, on the other hand? Shiro doesn’t know what to make of that, much less how Keith and Adam might react to his desire to get even bigger.





	Softer Touch Required

**Author's Note:**

> me: *knows that I have other things that I really need to work on*
> 
> garbage brain: “I miss writing chubby!Shiro. Here, let’s start some silly Adasheith weight gain fic, and Adam designs cosplays because I said so.”
> 
> me: “That sounds like a good plan to make a bad life choice. Let’s do it.”
> 
> —Anyway, here’s ~~“Wonderwall”~~ some completely self-indulgent chubby kink nonsense that has a story building up, I guess? But I wouldn’t exactly call what’s happening here a, “plot”? Though I guess that’s mostly a bunch of subjective semantic noodling, and the real point here is that Shiro’s getting chunky while Keith and Adam encourage and enable him because I wanted it to exist and took matters into my own filthy hands.

Slouching onto their kitchen table, Keith’s supposed to be looking at the new costume designs in Adam’s sketchbook. Unfortunately for any pretenses of responsibility, Keith’s eyes keep drifting back to Shiro. He leans against the counter, watching Netflix on Adam’s propped-up tablet without an apparent care in the world, much less any inklings about how much he’s distracting Keith.

If he were the only one staring, Keith would feel worse, more like something must be wrong with him and that’s why he can’t focus on something that, for Adam, counts as paying work. But as he tries to force his eyes back to the sketches, Keith catches Adam looking, too. Mouth hanging open ever-so-slightly, he’s so caught up in watching Shiro that his glasses have slipped down the bridge of his nose. He only pushes them up again when Keith gently kicks his ankle — but that doesn’t break the spell for long. Once he can see more clearly again, Adam returns to ogling their boyfriend without missing a beat.

Not that Keith can blame him for that, really. They’ve all been together for two years. Adam was Shiro’s boyfriend for a little over a year before they decided that they wanted Keith to join them. He met Shiro in college too, so they’ve had a good deal of time together. On Keith’s end, Shiro befriended him during his freshman year, when Shiro and Adam were seniors and RA’s, and Keith graduated from Kaltenecker last year. All up, the three of them have had ample time to get acquainted. They should know each other pretty well.

Still, when they moved in together six weeks ago, Keith never would’ve dreamed that he’d see Takashi “walking eight-pack” Shirogane eating mint cookie ice cream straight out of the pint. Had anyone even suggested that Keith would live to spot the faintest outward curve teasing against the thin fabric of his boyfriend’s tight t-shirt, he would’ve had a laugh and told them that they sounded like a crazy person.

Yet, here they are, and looking at Shiro makes Keith’s mouth go drier than the bag of tortilla chips that Shiro devoured earlier, while Keith took Kosmo for a walk. He nudges Adam’s sketchbook away before reaching for his glass of water, because he doesn’t want to risk spilling anything on Adam’s work. After all, Keith _wants_ hydration, but Adam will _need_ these pictures later, if he decides to make these cosplays of Aragorn and Legolas, of Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, of Sailor Moon and Tuxedo Mask.

“So, what d’you think,” Adam says thickly, without looking away from Shiro.

Keith shrugs and supposes that he likes the designs. He should probably have more to say than that? Constructive criticism, maybe? At the very least, he should pull out something about how he likes all of Adam’s ideas and thinks they could definitely help flesh out his portfolio and online storefront.

But as Shiro shoves a heaping spoonful of ice cream into his mouth, all Keith can focus on is Shiro’s. All he can wonder is whether or not he’s imagining things. Dropping a hand to what might be the fullest part of his maybe-tummy, Shiro scratches himself absently and there _could_ be more give to his midsection than there’s ever been? He _might_ sink his fingertips into a slight, barely-there bit of pudge that _could_ lurk underneath his shirt, just starting to strain at the screen-printed cover art from Bauhaus’s “Bela Lugosi’s Dead.” _Maybe_ , Shiro’s put on a little weight since they moved in here. Not enough to make a huge difference, but enough to torment Keith with possibility, with the mere idea that one of his boyfriends is getting softer on him.

It’s a delicious idea, for sure. Probably not happening for real, though. Ever since Keith first met him, Shiro’s been fastidious about his gym schedule. Without adhering to a too-strict diet, Shiro’s always compensated, pushing himself more strenuously after pizza nights or letting himself enjoy some extra helpings of mac and cheese. True, he’s skived off more often recently, skipped more workouts since he, Adam, and Lotor started getting their MFAs, and since Shiro started as Dr. Sendak’s TA. He’s going to bounce back to the gym soon, though. Because it’s Shiro and he’s like that.

As if he can read Keith’s mind, Adam bats a foot at his shin and whispers, “That’s the second pint he’s had today.”

Keith’s cheeks twinge pink as he glances at Adam, then back to Shiro. He rolls his teeth over his lip.… Shiro has the volume turned up all the way on Adam’s tablet, effectively letting his boyfriends join him in binge-rewatching _The Good Place_. He’s probably zeroing in too much to notice anything else. Hot, thick, and insistent, a knot of guilt twists around Keith’s chest at the thought of discussing Shiro behind his back — even if he and Adam are technically doing it right in front of Shiro’s face, while Shiro is in the room with them.

Still, Keith scoots closer to the table. Leaning toward Adam conspiratorially, he hisses, “How many calories are in those things?”

“Varies from brand to brand, and flavor to flavor.” Shrugging, Adam pulls up his phone and taps around. “So, the one he’s working on has a little over eleven-hundred calories. And the chocolate-peanut butter Häagen-Dazs he had while you were in the shower…” More tapping, then Adam blinks at Keith like he can’t entirely believe what he’s about to say. “That one had _thirteen-hundred-and-twenty_ calories.”

Groaning softly, Keith scrubs his hands over his face. “Is he _trying_ to torture us?”

“I seriously doubt it.” How Adam can sound so blasé while they’re staring at even the vaguest chance of Shiro finally eating what he wants without punishing himself at the gym — never mind the chance of him gaining weight — Keith doesn’t understand. At least Adam has the decency to blush as he tells Keith, “He’s working so hard to prove that he deserves his scholarships. Dr. Sendak’s been worse to TA for than he’s let on at home—”

“That’s about as surprising as Lance getting a Kesha tramp stamp—”

“I’m just saying: Takashi’s been stressed.” Sighing so quietly that Keith almost misses it, Adam props himself up on his elbows. The _Look_ he gives Keith is serious and sober. “Personally? I vote that we don’t say anything, and you know exactly why we shouldn’t.”

As he inhales deeply, Keith can’t find a counterargument. “He’s only gotten a little soft. And knowing Shiro? He’ll probably notice soon. Then, he’ll hate it, so he’ll decide to slim down and get his _stupid_ washboard abs back.” Trying not to grumble how much he hates that idea, Keith tugs his bangs off his face. “But if we let him know we’ve noticed him putting on weight, _if_ he’s actually done that?”

“With the way he’s been eating lately? How often he’s skipped the gym? I don’t see how he _hasn’t_ —”

“It still isn’t a lot of weight, though. Could be more that he hasn’t kept up on his gym schedule—”

“I mean, on a guy who’s six-foot-three and his Takashi’s frame? It’s probably more weight than it looks like—”

“Fine. But it still isn’t enough to be a big deal, yet.” Keith kicks Adam’s ankle again, shooting him a glare like, _For fuck’s sakes, could you try being less obvious about how hot this is? God, you_ ** _know_** _how he’s liable to take this_.… When Adam’s cheeks flare up with red again, Keith huffs. “If we tell Shiro that he looks any different, he might turn it into a big deal and treat himself like crap. Which is, like, the absolute last thing that he needs an excuse to do.”

“Precisely. He’ll always find bullshit justifications for treating himself like garbage, if he wants them. He doesn’t need us to enable him.” Adjusting his glasses, Adam glances over at Shiro one more time. Content that their boyfriend still hasn’t heard them, he shoots Keith a downright wicked smirk. “Anyway, if letting him carry on yields results like this? Can you honestly say that you’d argue?”

Keith can’t honestly say that, and Adam should’ve known that without asking.

Sure, they probably won’t get to see Shiro letting himself go any more than he already has. But when Keith gets up to make some tea, he figures he can allows himself to dream. Slight though it is, the tease of tummy already torments Keith enough to make him want for more. Makes him yearn to see Shiro bigger and softer, with a proper belly and his already-thick thighs filling out with jiggle, going plush and straining the seams in all of Shiro’s pants.

That probably won’t make Shiro happy, though, so Keith will need to live on fantasies. Besides, it could be worse. Shiro could’ve shut down and started losing weight from the stress he’s been enduring. Even if this tiny tease that Shiro could get bigger is all that he and Adam ever get, it’s so beautiful that Keith can barely focus on finding the box of white darjeeling that he and Adam like. God, Shiro’s starter-pudge would feel so warm, so soft, so good beneath Keith’s hands.…

Except Shiro would _definitely_ notice, if Keith groped his stomach in the middle of the kitchen, and he and Adam literally just agreed that they cannot clue Shiro in to what is happening.… But _Jesus_ , Keith wants so bad to touch him.…

Once he gets the kettle set up on the stove, Keith settles with snaking against Shiro’s front and nudging him into a sweet, faintly minty-flavored kiss. Rolling his hips on Shiro, Keith definitely feels it: the smallest hint of cushion, a tiny bit of softness that could blossom into chub. With a warm chuckle, Shiro loops an arm around Keith’s slender waist and tugs Keith flush against him—

Keith muffles his gasp by throwing himself headlong into another kiss. As he sucks the lingering taste of ice cream off of Shiro’s tongue, he wriggles along Shiro’s stomach. As Shiro cups one of his huge, firm hands around Keith’s ass, Keith lets himself imagine how Shiro could come to feel underneath him, in some reality where he actually lets himself get bigger.

Dimly, he hopes the Keith and Adam in that reality appreciates what lucky little bitches they are.

  


* * *

  


Adam finds the first problem with his and Keith’s, _“Let’s not tell Takashi that we’ve noticed anything about him gaining weight”_ resolution almost as soon as he suggests it. Namely: he can’t help keeping track of how Takashi’s eating, and this makes his imagination break free from its leash.

When they get lunch together between classes, Adam notes how often Takashi opts for double-cheeseburgers and fries instead of his old mainstays of salad and grilled chicken. If Takashi ever sneaks off to the restroom, Adam makes sure to text Keith about his lunch order. He includes pictures, when he gets the chance. Stealing glimpses of the menu’s staggering calorie counts, Adam has to force himself not to dream that Takashi might decide he wants dessert, as well. But about three weeks after Adam and Keith decide to say nothing about Takashi’s weight, he picks up the diner’s menu of sweet treats of his own volition.

“God, I know I shouldn’t,” he says, rubbing at one of the faint dark circles underneath his glimmering gray eyes. “But Sendak’s in top form today, y’know what I mean? Like, come on, there’s no reason to act like such an ass about the freshmen in his intro class. They’re _freshmen_.”

Shrugging, Adam tries to keep his _“hmm”_ as soft and noncommittal as possible. “If you want to treat yourself, then you should do it.”

“I’ve really been hitting the Halloween candy, though. Not _that_ hard, but still. Plus, after what I had for _breakfast_?”

Adam’s tongue darts across his lips before he can stop himself. Breakfast was, in so many words, an _experience_. Takashi insisted on all three of them getting it together, since he wasn’t sure that Sendak would let him have this lunch break and Keith’s going to be working late tonight. He got so wrapped up in listening to Keith vent about his and Lance’s latest argument at the office, Takashi seemingly didn’t notice that the waitress brought him two refills on his bottomless hash browns. Then, he had his four-egg omelette (loaded with cheese and ham in addition to the vegetables he loves) and two plates of bacon. Before heading to his first class, he grabbed an enormous pumpkin spice latte. Adam’s head spins, trying to calculate how many calories Takashi devoured before nine AM—

But lest he leave Takashi hanging, he makes himself say, “What about your breakfast? If you’re hungry, then you should eat. Anyway, with the way that Sendak treats you, Babe? Getting yourself something sweet is, like, the least that you deserve.”

Takashi arches a brow, almost like he suspects something. Adam’s throat tightens in around itself and he clasps his hands together, kneads at the back of his hand. Jesus, if he mucks this up and clues Takashi in about what’s been going on… If Adam tips him off, makes him start paying more attention to his eating and his steadily growing waistline… If he’s the one who gives Takashi any reason to notice that he’s gaining weight, which he will certainly turn into a reason to deprive himself of comfort food and work himself sick at the gym? Adam won’t be able to live with himself, if he screws up so badly. What kind of jerk would do that to one of his boyfriends, much less after _agreeing with Keith_ that they should strategically say nothing?

But then, Takashi smiles. The warmth of it hits Adam like a ray of sunlight, and he barely manages not to heave a sigh of pure relief. Getting nudged underneath the table, he lets slip a breathless laugh and bats his foot back at Takashi. Footsie, perfect. Only slightly less perfect than Takashi’s smile, which in turn is only slightly less perfect than hearing him suppose that Adam’s right. Fortunately, they have a couple moments to finish deciding on what they want.

Adam’s heart still stops when Takashi tucks his long bangs behind one ear and asks the waitress, “And can I get a mint-chocolate milkshake? Extra-large, or whatever the biggest size is. And with extra whipped cream, please? Because my boyfriend loves to steal it.”

“Sure thing, hun. I’ll get you guys one of the long spoons, too.” The waitress smiles sympathetically. “One of _those_ days, huh?”

Unfortunately, Takashi can’t hold back a shudder. “Oh, yeah. _Definitely_.”

Regardless of how exhausted dealing with Dr. Sendak leaves him, Takashi waits for her to head back to the kitchen before he allows himself to slouch. Writhing around the booth and stretching out his back, he tugs his favorite Emilie Autumn t-shirt up on his middle. Black might help him conceal his blossoming tummy, most of the time — but his shirt’s wrinkling up around his high waistline. Adam has to cover his mouth to keep from gasping when Takashi slumps back into his seat, gives him a good eyeful of the roll of pudge he’s left exposed. As Takashi scratches at his stomach, his fingertips sink into soft, supple-looking flesh, and Adam almost bites his own fingers in the hope of keeping himself quiet.

If this were anybody else, Adam would say it strains credulity that Takashi hasn’t noticed any changes to his body in the past two months. But he had to drag Takashi kicking and screaming to the idea that their feelings for Keith might not have been unrequited. Before that, Adam had to put his tongue in Takashi’s mouth before his beautiful genius-idiot got the message that all of Adam’s flirting was not a case of him, _“just being nice.”_

“Tell me something cute, Sexy? Seriously, I need it, after trying to stand up for the freshmen.”

As he swishes out his ponytail and tugs his bangs, Takashi doesn’t try to tug his shirt down. Part of Adam wishes that he would, because Takashi’s little tummy is distracting. Another part of Adam hopes that doesn’t happen, so he can keep ogling that hint of increasingly luscious, tawny flesh that his boyfriend’s passively showing off. Still another part of Adam wants to give everything a miss, throw propriety in the nearest trash compactor, get on his knees, and fondle Takashi’s stomach while blowing him, right here and now, in the middle of the diner.

Only three good reasons why he shouldn’t come to mind. First, he might get them thrown out before Takashi has a chance to enjoy his feast. Worse, he could get too handsy, clue Takashi in to how much pudge is covering his abs these days, and make him decide to start dieting again. Finally, Keith’s probably up to his eyes in work right now, so even if they got him on FaceTime, he couldn’t sneak away to enjoy the show.

So, in lieu of a blowjob, Adam laces one of his legs up with Takashi’s. Gently, he rubs his heel up his boyfriend’s calf and gives him a smile that he hopes is some degree of comforting. For all he _wants_ to know if Takashi’s noticed his jeans fitting more snugly around his waist, if he’s weighed himself since his last annual physical and has a number to put on his weight, or if he doesn’t care so much about maintaining his washboard abs anymore, Adam swallows thickly and puts those questions away inside a mental box. As Takashi returns his smile, Adam puts that mental box inside another mental box, duct-tapes the boxes shut, and shoves them into the furthest, darkest corner of a mental closet. Now, he only needs to say something and seal the deal, get Takashi’s mind off of anything too stressful.…

But when Adam intends to tell Takashi about the progress he’s made on the Han and Leia cosplay, his mouth spits out, “I’m glad you’re giving yourself a break like you deserve. And if it helps, I know you, okay? There’s no way that you’ve actually been hitting the Halloween candy as hard as you think.”

“Er, thanks for the vote of confidence? But I, uh?” Sinking in his seat, Takashi squirms like he’s been caught with his hand in someone else’s cookies. As he ducks his eyes and scratches at the back of his neck, his cheeks flush such a pretty shade of strawberry, Adam has to fight down the urge to lunge across the table and kiss Takashi until they both pass out from lack of oxygen. “Midterm season’s killing me, I swear. So, I really _have_ been overindulging on the candy, lately.”

 _Oh, God, I hope so_ , Adam doesn’t say because it wouldn’t help.

Instead, he takes a deep breath and rubs his knee against Takashi’s. “Babe, I’ve heard you say that eating a single fun-size Snickers bar counts as overdoing it on the sweets. So, excuse me if I don’t necessarily trust your opinion.”

“…That’s fair.” Even so, something about Takashi’s blush says that they aren’t dealing with something so mild, though. As Takashi accepts his milkshake from the waitress and takes his first long sip, Adam hopes he’s right — but then, something nervous gleams behind Takashi’s eyes. “Promise not to judge me for the truth?”

Without a pause for thought, Adam agrees. A sigh bursts out of his boyfriend, and Takashi’s smile has an unmistakable edge of relief.

“I mean, only looking at today? I stopped counting how many stops I made at that huge bowl of candy on Ulaz’s desk. After about the twelfth or thirteenth time, it didn’t seem like keeping track would make a difference.” Huffing softly, Takashi rests his chin in his palm and takes another long sip of milkshake. “It’s not like I was only grabbing one thing when I stopped there, either. Like, I’d take a whole handful of miniature Kit-Kats. One time, I stuffed one of my jacket pockets with all the Reese’s cups I could fit in. When Sendak went off on me for disrespecting him — because I stood up for the freshmen — Ulaz went and dug through the bowl for all the cookies-and-cream Hershey’s bars and he put them in a bag for me. Because he knows I like them. There were thirty, when he gave me that.”

Rubbing one of his eyes, Takashi slouches even further, as if he’s beating himself up too much to keep sitting up straight. “I’ve got six of them left. And I’d probably have _none_ of them left, if I hadn’t left them in my cubby. I kept telling myself that I’d only have one more before I stopped, and then I never stuck to that. So, like, I _really_ shouldn’t with this milkshake.”

Thankfully, thinking so doesn’t stop Takashi from slurping down another huge sip of his treat.

Before letting himself speak, Adam takes a deep breath. Tries to steady his nerves. “Takashi, I love you. But _fuck_ , ‘should.’”

Hearing this makes Takashi blink bemusedly and come up speechless.

“You want to know what you should really do, Babe?” Pushing up his glasses, Adam looks his boyfriend in the eye. “You should do whatever makes you _happy_. Whatever helps you take care of yourself and feel better. Especially when Sendak does his best to run you into the ground on a fucking daily basis.”

“That’s what I get,” Takashi mutters, “for applying to be his TA because I love his art.”

“Come on. You had no way of knowing what a dick he’d turn out to be—”

“I could’ve researched him better. Read more about him than ego-stroking puff-pieces that act like he’s completely infallible because he writes comics with gay superheroes—”

“Takashi, stop it.” As if it helps make his point, Adam kicks his boyfriend in the shin. “Sendak’s an asshole, but you’re stronger than he is. Make it through being his TA, and you’ll have a letter of recommendation that will let you walk into any job you want—”

“Except Pixar, probably,” Takashi deadpans, scooping around in his glass.

“Yeah, well, that’s what we and Keith get for choosing illustration instead of digital animation.” With a playful smirk, Adam lets Takashi spoon the whipped cream into his mouth. “But hey, if Lance ever decides to go for his MFA, maybe he can work for Pixar and we can live through him vicariously.”

“I meant more that Sendak’s apparently blacklisted at Pixar, like—” Even in the face of Adam almost choking on his coffee, all Takashi does is shrug like asking what, if anything, Adam expects him to do about this. “I don’t know the whole story? And I heard it secondhand from Thace and Ulaz? But they said that Sendak actually worked at Pixar, like? Back when they were still developing _Finding Nemo_. But he kept getting into it with his coworkers because the expected him to be a team player and he wanted to be the star—”

“Yeah, that sure sounds like Sendak—”

“Exactly. That’s why, even though I’m not taking this story as gospel truth? I’m still inclined to believe it.” Taking a deep breath, Takashi takes up the metal cup and pours more milkshake into his glass. “Real talk: if he’s really enough self-centered jerk that he wouldn’t appreciate how huge it is to work at Pixar in any capacity? Then I wish that I’d never wanted to impress him. I swear, this is like some _Devil Wears Prada_ garbage.”

“Yeah, except Miranda Priestly might actually be more tolerable.”

“You’re only saying that because you worship at the altar of Meryl Streep.”

“Yep. And because Sendak is messing with one of my boyfriends, which makes me feel quite secure in hating him.”

Snickering, Takashi grins. “Can you believe Keith and I are dating a literal saint.”

“Nah, not a saint.” Adam huffs and smirks right back at him, nudging his ankle into Takashi’s. “I’m just a simple man, who likes sewing, drawing simple comics, and dressing his boyfriends up in cute cosplays.”

He could leave well enough alone — but as he rubs his leg against his boyfriend’s, Adam adds, “I’m also a simple man who believes that, if it gets you through this TAship and bags you the letter of recommendation that you deserve more than anybody else I’ve ever met? Then fuck it, Babe. You deserve to treat yourself and drink that stupid milkshake.”

Inhaling deeply, Takashi seems to consider this. He hums like he wants Adam to believe that he’s putting more thought into this question than anything else he’s had to wrestle with lately. He furrows his brow as if he’s deep in thought and tries to make like he’s zoned out and staring into space, rather than watching the contents of his glass inch further and further down. When he pours himself another refill, he frowns like he’s debating something quite intensely. To his credit, Takashi’s act would probably fool most people.

Adam, however, is not most people. Personally, he’d find Takashi’s faux-pensive act infinitely more convincing if he would take the straw out of his mouth and stop sucking down his milkshake like he’s breathing that instead of oxygen. If he weren’t drinking the thing so voraciously, then yeah, Adam would believe that his boyfriend’s having second thoughts, that he’s _genuinely_ considering whether or not his milkshake will make him happy, whether or not he _really_ wants it. But the fact that he’s taking sip after long, slurping sip? Sure seems to indicate that Takashi’s decided what he wants.

Granted, he might change his mind about that later. Maybe Adam should present all sides of the issue, instead of the one that gives him and Takashi the most instant gratification.

On the other hand, the menu says that Takashi’s getting a good sixteen-hundred calories from this treat alone. Adding in estimates about the calories from his actual lunch, his breakfast, his candy, his pumpkin spice latte, and whatever they do for dinner tonight? Adam feels dizzy, like he’s going to pass out.

Besides, if a milkshake gives his boy some happiness, then is it really Adam’s place to (pretend that he would ever) argue?

  


* * *

  


Keith’s twenty-fourth birthday happens on a Tuesday because the universe wants to punish Shiro.

Okay, realistically, Keith’s twenty-fourth birthday happens on a Tuesday because that’s just how the calendar shook out this year, which has nothing to do with anything directly related to Shiro. No one is out to get him, and he only thinks so because he’s slacked off on some of the anxiety management journaling exercises that his therapist’s given him at their every-other-weekly sessions.

Even if the calendar _had_ wanted to screw him over specifically, it first would have needed to achieve sentience. Then, it would’ve needed to achieve enough borderline-omniscience to know in advance that Tuesdays would be Shiro’s Hell Days TM, this semester. If that had happened, then humanity would likely need to address several far more pressing and potentially disastrous issues than the fact that Shiro needs to teach Introduction to Art History at 8:30 in the morning, doesn’t get out of his own classes until twelve hours later, and has to spend his long stretch of nominal afternoon free time in the TAs’ office because he’ll feel guilty if he doesn’t make himself available to any undergrads who might need help. That’s a lot to deal with on any other Tuesday — but it’s worse on October 23rd because it means that Shiro might end up ruining his Baby’s birthday dinner.

“Darling, _honestly_ ,” Lotor drawls, openly rolling his eyes and shaking out his waist-length, white-blond ponytail. “Keith and Adam will simply be pleased to spend time with you and go somewhere special for dinner. As nice a place as your current attire allows, at least.”

With a click of his tongue, Lotor rests his thin, terracotta-toned cheek in his palm. As if it actually makes his point, he arches an immaculately manicured brow and combs his eyes down Shiro’s body. He lingers on the unbuttoned black dress shirt, but doesn’t stop until his gaze has drifted so low that most people would think he’s staring at Shiro’s crotch. If Lotor were really looking for Shiro’s cock, then Shiro would definitely squirm less about it. Lotor is his best friend, they’ve fooled around before, and they’ve seen each other’s dicks more than their fair share of times.

But today, Lotor’s more likely taking in the view of Shiro’s stomach. Not that Shiro can blame him for that, considering how odd it is that Shiro has a _stomach_ , in the first place. For as long as Lotor’s known him, he’s had a trim, waspish waist, barely thirty-one inches around, and a set of hardwon eight-pack abs, all taut and firm, with hardly any visible body fat.

Lately, though, Shiro’s let himself go more than a little soft. While his looser tops and sweatshirts still conceal things pretty well, the outfit that Keith asked him to wear for dinner clings to all the thick bulges and rolls of chub that have slithered onto Shiro’s midsection as he’s indulged his sweet tooth in the past couple months. The thin, white fabric of this t-shirt is unforgivingly snug, riding up on Shiro’s middle, straining and wrinkling because there isn’t enough fabric to contain him anymore. Compounding everything, the swell of his stomach and his softer chest stretch out the design that Shiro got screenprinted. It’s one of his favorite pieces that he did between undergrad and deciding to go for an MFA: George Michael dolled up like a Renaissance saint in a leather jacket and aviator sunglasses, with a halo and _“The Church of Saint George”_ stenciled along the bottom in the fanciest script that Shiro could manage.

If anything, his jeans are an even more detailed case-study in how chunky Shiro’s getting. Or they would be, if Lotor could get a better view of them, right now. Practically painted onto his skin, the denim hugs Shiro’s meaty thighs so tightly that he worries about popping a seam every time he sits down. The waistband is an even worse story, cutting hard into Shiro’s stomach, squashed under his burgeoning love-handles and the muffin-top he’s gotten used to seeing whenever he looks down, and threatening to pop its button each time Shiro allows himself to sigh too heavily.

Lunch hasn’t helped matters any. Sure, it’s been drawn out more than normal because Shiro has papers to grade and time to kill. But Keith stuffed Shiro’s lunchbox full to bursting, packing in two sandwiches, a container overflowing with Adam’s special mac and cheese, ziploc bags with raw peppers and cucumbers, an overly large slice of Keith’s triple-fudge pre-birthday cake (a gift that Hunk brought him over the weekend), a bag of Cheetos, a bag of pretzels, an enormous slice of the Oreo cheesecake that Adam ordered from Hunk’s family’s bakery, _“because I just felt like it, Takashi,”_ two of Hunk’s double-chocolate Oreo-stuffed cupcakes (which had no right to be as big as they were), two sticks of mozzarella string-cheese, and a ziploc bag into which Keith somehow crammed eighteen double-stuffed Halloween Oreos.

Keith probably gave him enough food for two people, and yet? Slightly over two hours into Shiro’s technical free time, and he’s finished everything but the cheesecake, the Cheetos, and the cookies. His stomach only started groaning in protest about fifteen minutes ago, after Shiro had gotten through a third of his cheesecake slice. Given how swollen he feels, how his belly pushes out against the confines of his jeans, Shiro’s surprised that he lasted so long without feeling the pressure of how much food he’s near-mindlessly devoured.

Jesus, it’s no wonder he’s filled out so much, considering his quick descent into eating like this practically every day.

Swallowing a sigh, Shiro glances over his shoulder, checks for any potential interlopers. Content that nobody’s coming, he drops his free hand and kneads at the fullest part of his growing paunch. Under his fingertips, his stomach is warm and almost as firm as his abs were until recently. He still finds hints of chub, but for the most part, this belly-rub mostly involves massaging a taut, jam-packed bulge. If Shiro were sitting with anyone but Lotor, he’d suffer the side-effects of his gluttony in silence and discomfort. But despite how Lotor sometimes comes off — despite the switchblade glint to his dark blue eyes — he isn’t actually casting judgment, not even when Shiro fails to muffle a belch or allows himself to groan.

“You could have done this for yourself sooner, darling,” he points out. “You must need the assistance, with everything you’ve put away.”

“Yeah, you could say that.” Massaging a particularly tight spot, Shiro inhales sharply. He drags his teeth along his lower lip. Works his fingertips against his distended tummy. It helps, but even so— “ _Please_ don’t tell anyone what I’m about to do?”

Lotor wrinkles his nose. “What? Are we pretending that no one has ever masturbated on the lounge’s sofas, now?”

“Not _that_ kind of something, Ballerina Barbie—”

“I have caught both Ezor and Regris _fornicating_ on the sofas. If you want to summon Adam for a quickie, then I will recuse myself—”

Shiro huffs out an, _“ugh”_ and shakes his head. Without waiting for Lotor to agree, Shiro sucks in his stomach enough to find his button more easily. A little fiddling and he undoes his jeans. The effect is instantaneous: unleashed from its denim-and-zipper prison, his belly surges forward, all full and round and edging closer to Shiro’s lap than it did yesterday. Liberated, his stomach pushes his t-shirt up further, until the hem skirts across his belly-button. As Shiro lets slip a sigh of relief, Lotor ducks under the table.

“Curiosity killed the proverbial cat,” Shiro reminds him, picking up where he left off with his belly-rub.

“Perhaps. Perhaps not.” When he sits up like an adult again, Lotor’s smirking like a cat who got into a container of cream. Leaning toward Shiro, perching his chin in his palm, he adds, “However, the rest of that adage tells us that satisfaction has magical restorative properties and successfully revived the cat.”

“What satisfaction, Barbie? Are you, Hunk, and Lance betting about how long it’ll be before I need to buy new jeans?” Splaying his hand out on his stomach, Shiro presses in hard. Another belch erupts from his throat and his cheeks flush hot, even though he knows that Lotor isn’t judging him. “How long it’ll be before sweatpants are the only things that fit me, maybe?”

“Mmm, my paramours and I _might_ place bets about those things, if you have no objections—”

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t—”

“Then we shan’t.” Idly, Lotor blows his long cowlick off his face. “But, no. I referred simply to the satisfaction of seeing that a beautiful man has let loose his luscious, well-rounded belly.”

“Nice to know that _somebody’s_ enjoying this. Someone other than me, I mean.”

Lotor’s brow quirks up so high, it threatens to leap off his forehead. “Darling, do you honestly expect me to believe that Keith and Adam _don’t_ appreciate your blossoming figure? When Adam constantly leaves treats in your cubby and Keith packs you lunches like that?”

“Well, if nothing else, then I’m pretty sure that they don’t hate it?”

“I reiterate: you have obviously put on weight recently. Both of your significant others indulge you on a daily basis and see to it that you are _incredibly_ well-fed.” Lotor pouts as if someone’s insulted him, or like Lance isn’t laughing at a clever joke that he spent all day working on. “But your brilliant assessment of their reactions to your thicker thighs, your exquisite ass, and your ballooning waistline is, ‘I’m pretty sure that they don’t hate it’?”

“There was a moment when I thought they might—”

“Because of course you did—”

“But if Keith actually disliked this, then he’d make that pretty obvious. Subtlety isn’t a skill he uses that often—”

Lotor purses his lips as if he wants to point out _something_ that’s nagging at him about what Shiro’s saying. Instead of clearing whatever’s on his mind, he leans more heavily on his palm and reaches across the table to steal some of Shiro’s Cheetos. Frowning at him only makes Lotor shrug as if asking what Shiro expects him to do.

“You still have the majority of the bag, slightly over half of your cheesecake, and seven Oreos.” Pointedly, like he’s daring Shiro to tell him that he’s wrong, he pops the biggest Cheeto in his mouth. “I think you’ll live.”

“I would’ve shared some, if you’d asked.”

“It was far more entertaining to steal them from you, though.”

“As I was _saying_ …” Shiro tugs on his bangs, then tucks them behind his ear. “If Keith didn’t like the way I’m pudging out all over everybody? Then he wouldn’t be feeding me cheesecake, or asking if I’ve had enough to eat at dinner. He’d straight-up tell me to get my plumped up ass on a diet, cut down on all the sweets, and hit the gym already. And Adam can be harsh, when he feels like it? Or when he doesn’t feel like putting in the effort to filter himself and be more gentle with someone. But at the same time…”

Now that he’s opened his pants and rubbed his belly, Shiro feels like he could get back to work on his lunch. Digging up a forkful of his cheesecake, he supposes, “Adam can be open with me and Keith. But he still isn’t the kind of jerk who’d swoop in like, ‘Hey, Babe, do you know how much weight you’ve put on since we all moved in together? ‘Cause you’re looking like a serious butterball these days, Tubby, and it’s honestly a miracle that any of your jeans still fit. So, hey! Maybe you don’t need that second pint of Ben and Jerry’s, after all? What d’you think about starting a diet in the morning, Fat-Ass?’”

“That _does_ seem out-of-character for Adam. Especially since you hardly even count as _chubby_ , at the moment.” Sighing pensively, trying to look like he definitely isn’t up to something, Lotor tacks on, “Idle curiosity, and you are under no obligation to entertain me, but.… _Do_ you know how much weight you’ve gained?”

“Thirty pounds. A little over. Thirty-two pounds, if you don’t want to let me round down.” Maybe Shiro should blush when Lotor nearly chokes on his cranberry juice, but he forks down more cheesecake and can’t help smirking. “I weighed myself last night, after Keith picked the outfit he wanted me to wear tonight. I clocked in at two-fifteen when I had my last physical—”

“No offense intended, darling? But that glorious tum you’re growing looks like a gain of more than thirty-two pounds.”

“Because it’s _stuffed_ , right now. Also, I haven’t made time for the gym in weeks.” Another bite of cheesecake and a quirk of Shiro’s shoulders. “So, our bathroom scale said two-forty-seven when I checked it, which? Felt like, ‘Yeah, that makes sense.’ With how much Sendak has me stress-eating, I’m dead shocked that I haven’t put on _more_ weight, actually.”

“Mmm, I doubt it will stay that way.” Lotor snickers when that statement makes Shiro shudder. “Have you discovered a fondness for these extra pounds, darling? Because you carry them well, and in all our years of friendship, I have rarely seen you look happier than you do right now, while cramming more cheesecake into your poor, overtaxed stomach.”

“I’m… still feeling it out, a little?” Which would probably be more convincing if Shiro didn’t follow that statement by twisting the top off of an Oreo, forking a dollop of cheesecake onto the bright orange cream, and shoving the whole concoction in his mouth at once. “Look, it’s not that I don’t enjoy this? I thought I’d ride out whatever happened and try to practice accepting my body, no matter how chubby I got or didn’t by the time that Sendak’s done with me. There _is_ something fun about eating whatever I want, whenever I want to eat it.… I can’t pretend I don’t like the way my belly feels, like? Sue me, my pudge is fun to play with—”

“The unspoken, _‘But’_ is suffocating me, darling, so would you kindly—”

“ _But_.” Shiro throws Lotor a Significant Glance, and hopes that it effectively asks him to please hush for another moment. “My issue is… Sure, Adam and Keith are enabling me enough? But it feels like they’re more humoring me than anything—”

Holding up both hands, Lotor makes the single most offended huffing sound that Shiro has heard in his entire life.

“How can I make this concept simpler for you, darling?” He tosses his head back, flicking his cowlick off his pointy face. “Adam and Keith would be infinitely less subtle, were they only trying to humor you about your weight gain—”

“You’re ignoring the _context_ of things, though, Barbie.”

As Lotor slumps in his seat, he knocks the sole of his combat boot into Shiro’s shin. Too gentle to be a proper kick, but with too much force to be anything but intentional. “By, ‘context,’ do you mean, ‘Some convenient, half-baked excuse that you are pulling out to justify acting like an idiot, in spite of the fact that you are one of the few people I know whose intellect can compare with my own’? Given your encyclopedia’s worth of precedents, I rather suspect that you do.”

“We’re dancing around the part that I’m _really_ feeling out, okay?”

Polishing off the last couple bites of his cheesecake, Shiro slouches onto his elbows. His distended stomach edges further onto his plush thighs as he adjusts his posture. Absently, Shiro brushes his fingers up and down, gently tracing around his stomach’s outward curve. Although his belly feels nicer when it _isn’t_ stuffed — God help him, Shiro likes kneading at his pudge and having an easier time of pinching up his rolls of tummy-chub — there’s something so dizzying about how chunky his body’s getting. Barely three months ago, Shiro never would’ve dreamed of giving up his diet, never would’ve imagined that he could pack on the pounds like this.… Now, he can _feel_ the proof that he’s put on weight, and he can imagine how it might feel, if he gets even bigger.

With how many calories he’s eating, most days, Shiro won’t be waiting too long. He’ll probably outgrow the biggest, loosest-fitting clothes in his wardrobe before he knows which way is up. But he still needs to point out—

“For one thing, my boyfriends and I will really need to talk about it if I get too much heavier. Like, if I suck in enough and do some creative corseting? I can _probably_ fake through a shoot as if I’m still mostly slim. Once I hit two-sixty-five, though? That’ll be a fifty-pound gain, so…” He inhales deeply, and heaves a sigh when it doesn’t help him feel any steadier. “Part of Adam’s livelihood depends on me and Keith wearing his cosplay designs and posing for photographs. Honestly, it’s a good thing we decided against dressing me up as gold bikini Leia, because with how much I’ve let myself go, lately? How plump I’ve gotten, _especially_ around the midsection…?”

“The world has more than enough room for cosplay models of ample size. Honestly, we might benefit from having more of them.” Lotor hums and swishes his ponytail. “Theoretically, Adam could even get more business out of this. It is one thing to _say_ that you can make costumes for plus-sized customers. Quite another, though, to _show_ that you can do this.”

“That point notwithstanding, Barbie?” As he shrugs, likely failing to seem casual, Shiro forces himself to look Lotor in the eye. “Keith and Adam haven’t said anything about me chunking out the way I’ve been doing. Whatever they really feel about my weight or not, they’re trying to spare my feelings—”

“Oh my _stars_ , darling, are you completely out of your—”

“—Because they _know_ that this started with Sendak-related stress-eating.” Shiro waits for a witty interjection out of Lotor. When he doesn’t get one, he adds, “Until I’m done as his TA, a not-insignificant amount of any weight I gain? Will likely _continue_ to involve Sendak-related stress-eating. He drives me up a wall. Dealing with him is so draining that sometimes? I _need_ a sugar rush to just get through it without screaming — or worse, having a sobbing meltdown in the men’s room.”

“Aha,” Lotor sighs, nodding slowly. As he bats his foot at Shiro’s calf, his face softens into a warm, sympathetic expression, almost but not quite a smile. “So, the true reason for concern is more… How do you convince Keith and Adam that you are not simply coping with the myriad of agonies that Sendak subjects you to, then tolerating the side-effects that stress-eating has on your weight?”

“Exactly.” With a soft huff, Shiro licks the orange cream off another Oreo. “Then, a little more immediately?” He leans back so Lotor can get a better look at him. Cups a hand around his belly and jostles it as carefully as possible. “Here’s hoping I can get my jeans done up again before I have to get to class.”

“Try buttoning them underneath your stomach, rather than around your waist.” Wrinkling his nose and squinting, Lotor tacks on, “Though, considering how high your natural waistline is, that might be easier said than done.”

“Either way? If I _do_ get them zipped and buttoned, I might legitimately pray that I make it through dinner without busting out of them.”

“That should be the least of your concerns, Shiro.” A fond smirk twists up Lotor’s lips and he rolls his eyes with nothing but affection. “Something tells me that your boyfriends would enjoy watching you pop the button off your jeans in public.”

Much as he wishes he could argue, something tells Shiro that Lotor likely has a point.

**Author's Note:**

> As ever, I can also be found over [on tumblr](http://amorremanet.tumblr.com/) and on Discord (amorremanet#5500), as well as at my [chub!kink-specific sideblog](http://chubbyshiro.tumblr.com/).


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